A Wizard's Love is a Bitter One
by mailroomy
Summary: The saying goes: “the path of true love never runs the way you wanted them to, or something like that.” Snape/Black, past SS/LM, and therefore Slash
1. prologue

_Title:_ A Wizard's Love is a Bitter One (_L'amore di un mago è amaro_)  
_Pairing:_ SS/SB (past SS/LM, platonic there-but-not-there parental-thingy SS/AD)_  
Rating:_ R  
_Disclaimer:_ All characters are Rowling's. Never mine. Storylines borrowed from Tetuzoh Okadaya and Basso. Not mine.  
_Summary: _The saying went "the path of true love never runs the way you wanted them to, or something like that." (Snape/Black, past SS/LM, and therefore Slash)  
_Warning:_ AU, something a little like revisionist history, something a little like whimsy, many disregards of canon, additional notes below.

* * *

.prologo/fuor d'ogni misura.

"You called?" Irritated. Amused. Indulgent. Bittersweet tea and lemon cakes were Fridays, an hour or so after dinner. It's Wednesday.

"Yes, yes, sit down, sit down, my boy." Wrinkled fingers on the small of thick-clothed back. A slight pressure, an apologetic smile. _Please humour an old man_.

Dark eyebrows rose, a questioning smirk, and yet he sat down. For once, he had no potions to brew, no marking to be done. So he sat and waited. Across the table valiantly trying to hold itself up despite the numerous tea things and cake things and a little velvet box that looked so out of place.

"That was left for you," Dumbledore slid the box across, nudged it an extra inch, letting it tumble into Snape's lap. "From our mutual acquaintance."

"Lucius?" White fingers. Stained fingers. They reached out hesitantly. "Despite swearing never wanting to have anything to do with me anymore?" _Since when had Dumbledore become their matchmaker, their go-to-person. This sordid romance that never should have existed in the first place?_

The old man smiled, knew what was running through the other's mind. How could one resist not to meddle? He never knew anything else, never could do anything else. _And it was such a spectacular break up._ Several trees and boulders could attest to this, scarred and all but dead. It happened in a secluded place of course, away from prying eyes. But the Headmaster of Hogwarts couldn't really be categorised as prying eyes, could he? He smiled again.

"I wonder what he meant by this." Lower than a whisper. But Dumbledore heard it anyway. The box laid unopened in those slightly trembling palms. Too little time had past, the sting and scars from hexes and curses should remain still. Fatigue, bewilderment. _Where do we go from here?_

"You know what he meant by it." The Malfoys, Dumbledore thought, had always been rather flighty in matters of the heart. Unused to things that weren't purely politics, selfish in ways they couldn't even fully realise themselves. _And yet, not only them. All of us mortals, poor and confused, trundling up and down places unknown_.

"And yet..." a pause, another flicker of hesitation, before the box finally opened to reveal its secret. Pale gold, never brazenly so yellow, never so serene as silverwhite. It seemed to look up expectantly at its holder. "Yet. What he wants, I cannot give."

"I don't think he expects you to." He floated a cup of tea, gently, insistently. And the blue-white china waited, quivered slightly in the air as if impatient, until Snape accepted it.

"It seems he expects very little."

Snape thought back to the days, those days that appeared as simple as to be complicated. He knew Malfoy's attraction to him and he would not be a Snape if he didn't use it ruthlessly. He was the one who approached the older boy, part attraction to Malfoy's charm, part recognising the importance of having such a powerful backer. With the Marauders breathing down his neck, and sundry students brazenly following their Gryffindor Gods' lead, he saw the importance of having something other than personal brilliance (of which he knew he had in spades) and sheer bullheadedness.

Consorting with the devil seemed worth its weight in being called all sorts of names. Most of the threats fell away in an instant, leaving only the Marauders. Not that they didn't step up and fortify their own front.

"We were young, then," he said, replacing the ring back, closing the box, sliding it back to the centre of the table.

With age came awareness, if not understanding. Childhood dreams and gullible notions disappeared as corpses piled one on top of another, as time dragged on, the glorious day the Dark Lord kept peddling never arrived.

Promises fell away, shattering into a million different regrets.

"How can he still?" _Have I not used him?_ _Have I not thrown him away when I couldn't handle him anymore?_ Questions that went unvoiced.

And yet, Dumbledore, who praised himself for knowing other people who didn't even know themselves, knew. Understood. "Have you _both_ not used each other?"

It wasn't as simple as that. Dumbledore also knew. This man sitting in front of him could never be simple. Snape believed he had merely used the people around him.

Yet, there was also love, no less true, no less sincere. This man who so fiercely and earnestly loved, no matter how much he sought to delude even himself. He wound those he loved. How could he not. Such passion could only love until it drew blood and tears. _Haven't all the epic passions of the world led to bittersweet tragedies? Aren't they the ones history remembers most?_

Then, for someone who was neither comely nor physically alluring (not like the Malfoys, the Blacks, the Potters), never perfect, always seeming like a sorry afterthought, Snape had always managed to charm his way into people's lives.

Dumbledore should know. There was no point in denying that. He wasn't about to, as he stood and walked the short distance between them.

"How can he still?" Dumbledore asked, mirth and laughter trying to bubble over, threatening to spill and destroy the mood. "How can he _not_!" Because Snape burned himself deeply into the soul of those he touched, be it love or hate. Never something in between. Etched branded leaving no room for forgetfulness. If not lovers anymore, then friends, then acquaintances. Reshuffled up and down, reprioritised, recompartmented. But a fire of this magnitude, a passion of this brightness would never fade. Dying embers and ashen coals they may be, but never one to lie dead and forgotten.

"How can anyone?" Dumbledore asked. Softly. Gently. Imploringly so.

He didn't know who embraced the other first, but there they were: half-sitting, midway-standing, awkward and clumsy.

"I worry," he admitted. "When I think of your future, I worry."

"You shouldn't." Confident. Unyielding. Already closing himself in.

"Shouldn't I?"

The sun disappeared beneath the horizon. The tea cooling as warming charms dissipated into the air. Night wind knocked upon stained glass panes.

"You needn't worry."

_Once you run out of yourself to give, what then? _

"Let me."

"You always do whatever you wish. I shan't be the one to deprive you of that one indulgence."

Dumbledore had always wished for many things in his life. Some wishes were granted, some seemed to went unheard, as if he never made them.

_I wish for you to not be alone_. And yet Snape was already walking a path of loneliness, had already been walking it for far too long, it seems. A forever's worth of loneliness isn't so hard to believe when one looked at Snape. And what if Snape was to live as old as Dumbledore?

_I wish for someone to understand your loneliness. _

All these he never said out loud.

But there were times, sitting alone with cold tea and stale buttered bread, when he wished he could have. Even when he knew what Snape would say. Something along the line of derision, of impossibilities, of lost faith.

_If this world is one of balance, that person must surely exist somewhere, no matter how unlikely._

_

* * *

_

_Notes:_

_Inspired heavily by:_ "The Man of Tango" by Tetuzoh Okadaya and "Amato Amaro" by Basso, as well as Gaspara Stampa's "Rime d'Amore". Indeed when I say "inspired heavily" it's actually filching storylines and dialogues.

I literally stumbled upon the two mangas on Mangafox, and found that they bore similarities to what I have in mind about Severus and Sirius, for some odd reason. Possibly made the characters OOC this way and can seem to only destroy those things Rowling lovingly built.

I know this is not such an original plot (as this fic uses storylines other people wrote), but I was compelled to write it in Potterverse. I understand that this is probably cheating, even though I do try not to use them as is, but trying to make them still fit in the Potterverse.

So, even if it's only for myself, I want to see where it leads me (and where it leads Snape and Black and Malfoy and...) *shrugs* Blame it to the sweeping blackouts that lasted for hours, leaving me with nothing to do but morbidly recreating things out of other authors' loving works.


	2. i'll live as i've lived

Note  
Finally! Part 1 in its entirety. I've taken down the snippet chapter and replaced it with this one.

I'm still rather apprehensive of this, but this one is better than the other drafts. Not way better, but marginally. I'm sure there are some glaring errors or misconceptions, as well, and I'd welcome all the comments and criticisms regarding this fic. Very much.

And thank you for your kind PMs and reviews, they made my day :) They are so very kind, and even more so as this is the first time I ever wrote this pairing.

* * *

.primo/vivrò qual vissi, e sarò qual son stata.

The two of them stood just inside the door, being served tea, coffee, and egg sandwiches in a parody of hospitality. Forgetting for a moment that they were expressedly forbidden to step inside the domain proper, weren't offered a seat, and left juggling cups and plates with their backs pressed to the door, it was as if they were wanted there.

Only Snape's voice, from the other end of the room, reminded them of their unwelcome.

"Yes, they're here. Still big wastes of space and I've nowhere to put them."

Snape was half bent over in front of the room's smaller fireplace, Dumbledore at the other end of the connection, chuckling merrily at Snape's supposed plight.

"Well I don't appreciate them stomping about here as if they own the place," Snape huffed.

"Now, now. I know you. No doubt they're chained to your front door, being fussed to within an inch of their lives by your elf, eavesdropping on our conversation."

"As long as they understand they're not exactly welcome here."

"Don't be too hard on them, Severus," Dumbledore's tone turned sombre.

"How can I? When you'll have me hanged, drawned, and quartered if I were to touch even a h..."

"You know I won't ever do that to you." Dumbledore often wondered what is it about these boys that brought about the worst amongst each other, especially this Snape and that Gryffindor Black.

"That's the problem, isn't it? I don't know. I can never be sure. Not about them," Snape said, horrified at sounding so petulant. He had long talked himself out of this bitterness, or so he thought. What is it about Black that brought the worst out of him. And Potter. And Lupin. And... Oh Merlin, almost everyone else.

_He really needed to get laid. _The small voice in his head sounded like the student body collective, all whispered sneers when they thought he was far enough not to be able to take points away straight to their faces (yet still within hearing distance for their comment to sting, even a little).

_Oh bloody hell, where did that come from? _Blasted little shits planting idiotic thoughts in his brain.

He coughed to hide his embarrassment, straightened up and said, "Well, I better scare them away now. Wouldn't want them to get too comfortable and steal my home and house elf from under my nose."

"Unthinkable, Master!" A shrill voice came from somewhere behind him, from the vicinity of his outer door. "I is always loyal to Master Snape!"

Snape sighed. Sometimes his life took a turn into the surreal and he wished... Blessed Merlin, at this point, he didn't know what he wished.

---

"Lupin," he greeted the one on the left. Mostly harmless and thus to whom he bore the least ill-will.

Then, and only because he's a person of impeccable deportment, he added, "Black."

"Severus," a bumbymumbly offer of a reply. A pause. Then, "Snape," they amended, speaking as clear as they could with sponge cake in their mouth.

---

The next day found them on a muggle train bound for London. They had almost missed it.

"I told you to be on time!" Snape exclaimed, as they took their seats in an empty carriage. His usually pale cheeks flushed red after running across the platform. "Merlin! You can be such a damn slob sometimes!"

Sirius Black, taking his seat across his travel companion tried to bite back a retort, but failed. "You could just leave without me," he said. He sat back and watched with a certain fascination as red splotches became more vivid on Snape's cheeks.

"And risk the Headmaster's lecture upon my return? I think not." Snape huffed and leaned back in his seat. He turned his head towards the window, watched as the countryside unfolded outside.

"_And_ I don't understand why you insist upon taking the train. I could've rented us a car, and I could drive us down to London," Black said after a few uneasy silence. Better to have Snape rant and rave at him, rather than sitting in oppressive silence, he thought. It's not like Snape could harm him physically without having Dumbledore on his case.

"That's not up for discussion," Snape bit back, folding his arms in front of him for good measure.

---

The conductor came in, took their tickets, punched little holes into the ticket and left.

---

"Remus sent his regards," Black tried again. "The potion you gave him worked a charm."

"As it should."

The night before, Dumbledore had sent Lupin down to the dungeons for some potions to deal with this pre-full moon pains he's been having. Snape had tried to discourage the visit at first, offering to meet Lupin and Dumbledore in the Headmaster's office instead. But some useless, pointless Ministry man dropped in for a chat with the Headmaster and Lupin was already on his way down. Snape didn't expect Lupin to bring the cavalry--namely Black--with him.

He had gone to the floo to rant, but rather than receiving reprieve, Dumbledore in all his patronising, fatherly concern, voted that Black should accompany him on his errands to London.

"I do not approve of this arrangement," Snape said, still watching the trees and pasture zip by outside the train. "I certainly don't need an escort, a minder, or a bloody babysitter. Especially not if the minder is you."

"Well, do you think I like it?" Black retorted. "I haven't spent much time with Harry as it is! But Albus told me you need a backup just in case. You have many enemies, if you hadn't notice."

"Salazar's Wrinkles! If I hadn't noticed, he said. I noticed plenty! That's why I barely need to be escorted by a man wanted by the bloody Ministry!" Snape exclaimed, glaring for good measure. "And why is it that you listened to Albus all of a sudden. You've never listened to anyone before!"

In the past, they would've jumped out from their seats and would've pointed wands at each other. But Azkaban had mellowed Black somewhat, and it was obvious that some level of fatigue had stayed Snape's hand. They resorted to staring at each other.

"Let's... oh... damn. Let's just say Albus had certain powers of persuasion," Black said, tactically taking the proverbial step back, something he himself was still getting used to.

Snape snorted, "Don't I know it." He sighed and leaned back into his seat once more. "Just... keep your head down."

Black leaned back in his seat also, absently tapping his ticket on his knee. "I will. Believe it or not, I have no intention of being caught and thrown back into Azkaban." Black exhaled audibly. "I'll change into Padfoot once we reach the next station?" he tilted his head and gave his best little-dog-lost look.

"Not on the train. Unless you're a seeing-eye dog. But in London, yes, I suppose. Let's just hope we don't run into anyone who knows Padfoot. The last thing I need is for you to fuck this up for me."

"And here I thought we're just running a simple errand."

"Has any errands from the illustrious, most persuasive Hogwarts Headmaster ever simple?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

"I suppose not," Black conceded.

---

The sun was unusually warm, the silence of the carriage, the engine's drone, lulled Black to sleep.

Snape glared at the sleeping man, snoring away (but still too much of a pureblood to drool in public) seemingly without a care. An escort, Dumbledore had said. A back up. As if Snape didn't know the his mentor and his wily ways. He knew a matchmaking if he ever saw one, especially one shoved into his face like this.

Did he not say that he's content with his life, imperfect as it was? Was it so hard to believe? As if he needed more complication in his life. As if he hadn't enough on his plate already. As if...

_All the more reason to have companionship, Severus my boy. Someone to come home to. _Merlin bless that meddling old soul.

But Black... Merlin! What was that old coot thinking!

_--tbc--_


	3. all's left to become

Note:  
Unbeta-ed madness as always.

* * *

.secondo/che non divenni allora.

"_He's been receiving threats, that boy," Dumbledore had told him. "Not that he's going to admit it."_

"_Serves him right," he had commented. "The way he's been behaving all his life, I'm not surprised." The tea and biscuits were exceptionally exquisite, Black hadn't failed to notice. _

"_This animosity between the two of you, isn't it past due to put it all behind you?"_

"_Why are you asking me? Ask him!" Black gestured wildly, almost knocking off a teacup in the process._

"_I have. Don't think I haven't." Dumbledore replied. Too many times to count, with remorse from both sides, acknowledgements of old hurts and past longings, but still, that wound festered. Even now the scabs were too thick to reveal anything anymore. He sighed. "Well, that's not what I've called you here for."_

"_Yes, about that. Are you seriously asking me to play minder to Snape? As if he'll let me? And why me?"_

_Dumbledore merely offered him a smile, that smile that irritated the heart out of Black, that enigmatic, oh-I-know-more-than-you smile. _

* * *

"Black. Black!" he heard someone calling him from the other side of his sleepy haze. A kick to his ankle and shin woke him up good.

"What? Snape!"

"We're almost there."

"What? London? Already?" he rubbed his eyes absently, peering at the rural scene outside. This couldn't be London.

"Of course not, stupid. We'll have to change trains," Snape replied. A sigh. Then, "Sometimes I forgot you've spent half your life in prison. It's as if you've never left."

* * *

They found themselves on a quiet platform, with only one other passenger, a matronly sort of lady with rosy cheeks and twinkly eyes looking suspiciously like someone that fell of the Dumbledore family tree. Sirius had helped her with her bags, which left Snape the dubious honour of carrying her sunhat.

She--"Thank you, dears, I'm Margaret"--insisted upon waiting for their London train with them, and when the train finally arrived, another lady poked her head out of the window. Margaret introduced them to her good friend since childhood, Doris, who worked the food cart for nigh on twenty years now.

"Take care of the dear boys for me, Doris," Margaret shouted from the platform as the train pulled away.

Doris ushered them to an empty carriage with a "business is rather slow today," slipped them two slices of lemon cake and two bottles of water, but refused to be paid. "As gratitude for helping Margaret, the poor duck. Her arthritis you know."

Black offered his charming smile as Snape nodded rather dismissively. "Thank you," both of them half-chorused as Doris moved to another carriage.

"I hope you don't mind me charming the door," Snape said, already retrieving his wand. "I don't think I'm up to meeting any more strangers."

Black, his universe shrunk to the size of lemon cake or thereabouts, merely nodded.

* * *

"This thing about you…" Black waved his hand about, unable to properly phrase his question. _Threatened? Getting what you deserved? Not doing your job properly?_

"Well, what did you know?"

"This and that," Black said, shrugging. "Is it serious?"

"As serious as the threat of that Longbottom boy finally killing his classmates."

"You don't look worried."

"Should I be?"

"I don't know. Shouldn't you?"

"Maybe."

"You're one irritating bastard, you know that don't you?"

Snape smirked and drank water instead. His lemon cake laid untouched on its plastic plate, on the folding table between them.

"Do you mind?" Black nodded at the cake.

"Be my guest." Snape watched as Black slid the plate towards him. "Didn't they feed you properly? After, I mean."

Black merely grunted as he divided the cake into small biteable pieces. "So, what awaits us in London?"

"You weren't told?"

Black popped a piece of cake into his mouth, then shook his head.

"Then you'll find out when we get there."

* * *

Fed and watered, Black moved to a bright warm spot by the window and slowly nodded off to sleep.

It was almost sunset when they arrived in London.

* * *

Snape sat on a bench in the park, Padfoot chased squirrels. Around them, people were leaving, folding lounge chairs and picnic blankets. Snape snorted as a few children tried to pet that mangy cur. But he just sat there, still and mostly quiet.

Squirrels properly terrorised, Padfoot rolled around in the grass, ending on his back, legs up, reaching towards the sky.

"Time to go," Snape said, looking down at the lolling dog.

They walked past a number of late joggers, and tired officemen hurrying home. A few drunken bums popped out of nowhere, claiming empty benches with a glare and a harrumph.

Past the side gate, across the street, they walked from street to sidestreet to alleyways, their shadows growing longer and the walls shifting closer as if to block them in. It seemed like a dead end, but Snape urged Padfoot into the wall.

* * *

"So, what is this place?" Black asked, as he looked around what seemed to be a smallish living room. Modest, sparse, impersonal.

"Some place that doesn't exist," Snape answered, his glamour falling away to reveal the less than savoury disposition Black was accustomed to.

"You look better like that," Black remarked, already walking towards what seemed to be a well-stocked liquor cabinet.

"I'm sorry if I've stolen your light, somehow."

"I suppose nobody could mistake Mr. Blue Eyes with Sour Snape," Black conceded, sniffing into various decanters and settling for what smelt like good scotch. "Scotch?" he offered.

"Firewhiskey?" Snape joined him by the cabinet. "And, Black?"

"What?"

"I wouldn't be doing my job well if people could see through my glamour."

"Yes, I suppose that's what kept your slimy arse alive all this time," Black said, passing the firewhiskey bottle to Snape. "Alive and rather comfortable too, I must add." He couldn't help bitterness seep through his words, and was unexplainably relieved that Snape did not offer any words in return.

* * *

They sat on opposite ends of the room, which wasn't much to write home about. The scotch was agreeable, the firewhiskey seemed serviceable too, judging by Snape's contented look (or at least as contented as Snape could possibly look, Black corrected himself).

"Did you get what you're here for? Are you done with your errand?"

"Not exactly."

"I wonder if I can go see Harry."

"If you like."

"Will... oh... you know... Dumbledore?"

"You're not my only minder, don't worry," Snape answered as he poured another healthy serving of firewhiskey. He couldn't understand why the Headmaster insisted on people following him. Dumbledore swore it's done because he was worried of Snape's welfare. Snape wondered whether it wasn't truly as altruistic as the old coot made it sound. A short leash, then? It sounded more plausible. Cynical, maybe. Realistic, possibly. He snorted derisively, took a long drink and poured more firewhiskey into his glass.

Not to be outdone, Black poured scotch for himself and downed it in a single gulp. "I'll be back tomorrow evening, if it worries you so much." Black was feeling rather charitable. It might be the scotch, Snape must've done something to it.

"Then meet me at Richmond Park, by the Old Trees somewhere. I'll bring the leash."

Black drowned his own retort with another gulp of scotch, felt it burn all the way down. Dumbledore owed him much for this. He'd never been this restrained before, never this conscientious before. Especially not with Snape. Or maybe it was Azkaban, changing him in ways he couldn't even recognise. The thought galled him. And he was on the way to being drunk. He wouldn't be held responsible for his words then.

He doubled his efforts to get extremely inebriated. He felt Snape's gaze upon him but made a point to not return it. He's not sufficiently drunk yet to make retorts detrimental to his arse. Drunk or not, Snape's quicker to the spells than he ever was.

How pathetic, he thought, that he needed to get unspeakably drunk to be able to face Snape squarely in the face, as they used to. Way back then, before Azkaban ruined his once-shining life, before the bloody Death Eaters insinuate themselves into Snape's veins.

"Merlin, Black," he heard Snape cursing, somewhere very near to his ears. "You're a bloody noisy drunk, aren't you?"

So he was thinking out loud, what's new? Black thought. "What's it to you, eh, Snape? Celebrating your worst enemy become like that drunk bum we saw back at the park?"

"Well, well, Black, it appears that you're an emotional overachiever, too."

"Why do you keep on baiting me?" Black winced at the sound of his own pathetic whining.

There was silence, a long protracted silence and Black was ready to believe that he'd finally keeled over and passed out. But, "You're... you're not yourself," Snape's voice was still annoyingly close to his ear, deeper, raspier, as if choking on something. _I'm not myself?_ _Of course I'm not myself. Choke to death, you insufferable bastard_, he swore inwardly.

"Up," Snape said. Black felt his body being hauled out of his comfortable chair. "Or not," Snape said again, dropping him unceremoniously back into the chair. "May you wake up with a nasty crick in your neck," Snape said. "While I go choke myself to death, shall I?"

_Ah, not so inwardly cursing after all,_ Black lamented.

"No, not so inwardly cursing after all, Black."

_Funny Snape kept repeating after me_.

"Though I wonder, Black, who'll keep your bloody no-good-of-a-godson in line if I were to choke myself to death as a thankless favour to you?" Snape asked. His voice was farther away, no longer so painfully irritatingly close. "You? I wonder if you could do a better job. Though I doubt it," Snape said, barb piercing through the haze of Black's inebriation. "You who got Harry Bloody Potter into this predicament he's in right now."

If only he had his wand in his hands, Black thought. If only he could feel his hands, feet, legs, arms, tongue, eyes. If only he had his faculties about him. He would've hexed and jinxed and make damn sure what he thought of Snape, thank you very bloody much.

"Yes, if only, Black." Snape was still talking, still ranting. Some made sense, some flew well clear over his head. "If only." The only words in Snape's long oratorium that made all the sense to Black.

_If only_. Ah, prayers of the day.

--tbc--


	4. nights, days, and life

note: unbetaed, as always.

* * *

.terzo/le notti mie colme di gioia, i dì tranquilli, e la serena vita.

Meeting with Harry lifted his spirits, he hugged the boy, talked to the boy, and listened to the boy's stories. He listened attentively, offering perfectly placed nods and appropriate hums, never interrupting. Azkaban had taught him to be a very good listener, it seemed. He accepted the food that Harry brought with him. All from Molly's own kitchen, he was told. He ate jam scones and chocolate tarts, and was happy. The sponge cake with lemon glaze made him want to take the boy and run away to some seaside town with no Dark Lord, no Snape, no problems.

But soon it was all 'goodbye see you again', and he trudged all the way to the nearest tube station. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the artificial lights in the underground station and, because of it, gave the wrong set of change to the man in the ticket box. The man looked at him impatiently, but was professionally kind when suggesting Black to add a few more pennies to the pot.

* * *

He found Snape sitting under a tree, tying off a small bundle of something on his lap. Snape looked up and signalled for Black to come closer.

"Did anyone follow you?" Snape asked.

"No," Black answered. "At least I don't think so." He looked around, noted that they were sitting in a secluded area. "Where's your other minder?"

"I sent him away," Snape replied, placing the bundle next to him, then pulling out a slim cigarette case. He opened it, took a cigarette, then replacing the case back into his coat. He did not bother with the courtesy of offering one to Black. "He says he doesn't like parks." Snape lit the cigarette discretely, wandless and wordless ("Show off," Black murmured under his breath). "I'm not so inconsiderate as to make him come to places he hates."

Snape exhaled and Black could smell tobacco, cloves, and… good Merlin, was that roses? Black looked at Snape, amusement clear in his eyes. _Must be some half-blood-in-pure-blood-snake-pit upbringing_, Black thought. Snape smoking rose-scented cigarettes. Black almost choked trying to hold his laughter in. He daren't laugh out loud, of course, Snape might be a closet ponce, but his wand was anything but.

"But you didn't show me the same consideration, did you?" Black said after making a show of clearing his throat.

"You don't like parks, Black? Your behaviour yesterday indicated otherwise," Snape said, extracting a dog collar and leash from somewhere behind him, lifting an eyebrow in amusement.

"Stop baiting me, Snape, or…"

"Or what?"

Another puff of clove-rose-scented smoke billowed between them and this time Black laughed. It was strangely liberating, laughing like this, open spaces around him, above him, warm grass below him. He laughed and laughed until he realised he was no longer laughing. He looked down and saw black-furred paws, and looked up at Snape who was already making a move as if to stand.

"I was hoping for a few more moments to sit back before running around after you," Snape said, kneeling in front of Padfoot, looping the soft leather collar about his neck carefully. "I'm sorry about the leash," Snape said, though his voice sounded anything but. "Dogs, no matter how well-behaved, must be leashed in royal parks." Snape stood back and examined Padfoot. "And you're anything but well-behaved," he said, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Come on then, I know just the place for you to marvel at squirrels," Snape tugged lightly on Padfoot's leash, then bending a bit to pick up his bundle of things (Herbs, Black found out much later. Those go into Dumbledore's rheumatism potion, Snape had pointed out. Some of the others to complete Lupin's pain potion. There were one or two that Black recognised as poison ingredients, but neither of them spoke about those).

Somewhere at the back of Padfoot's canine mind was Black, mildly appreciating Snape's rear encased in black wool-and-cotton-blend trousers. But before Black could loathe himself for thinking it, the thought was already pushed back by Padfoot's baser need to 'admire the squirrels', so to speak.

* * *

It was around seven when they arrived in the middle of the bustle that was Leicester Square, the sudden rush of people terrified something irrational out of Black. Snape merely looked bemused and led the way, a short distance from the station. A bit less people, but no less claustrophobic.

Snape led them to a building, and though the plaque outside advertised a cinema, Black couldn't help but notice the great number of nuns milling about the place. He wondered whether nuns had periodical outings or days off.

"Two tickets, please." And two tickets they received.

"A nun's conference?" Black whispered. "In a cinema?"

"Nothing so frightful, Black," Snape replied, walking away from the ticket booth. "Merely people dressing up as nuns."

"I never knew this fetish of yours, Snape," Black said, already mourning lost opportunities to taunt the other man. If he knew about this kink of Snape's years ago, back in Hogwarts, imagine what sort of mischief he and his friends could've gone into.

The sudden reminiscence of the good old days, though, sent a sudden stab of sadness inside Black's heart. He still missed those days very badly, it seemed. When James was still alive and Peter was still a confidante. Even Remus seemed so world-weary now.

"Don't be absurd," Snape's voice cut through his melancholy. "It's part of _that _errand. As if I'd set foot voluntarily into such an establishment."

"Yes, whatever you say, Professor, Sir," Black snickered.

* * *

It was Sing-along-a-Sound-of-Music night at the Prince Charles Cinema, and halfway through the showing, Black found himself singing off-key. He had watched this movie once, all those years ago, at Lily and James's. The future had seemed so bright then. Lily had made all sorts of tasty dishes and they watched muggle musicals all night and well into the morning.

Black vaguely noted that Snape sat very rigidly in his seat, possibly the only person to do so, though his fingers were drumming to the music on the armrest. He wanted to tell Snape to lighten up, but he was too caught up by the crowd. There was a young man dressed in a nun's habit standing beside him, who laughed with him and sang off-key with him, all bright youth and untouched by shadows. Black sang with him all night until the showing ended.

They bid each other 'goodbye' as the theatre lights came on fully, soon forgetting about how each other might've looked. Soon, Black and Snape found themselves back on the pavement, the crowd on Leicester Square still at full force.

"Got what you came here for?" Black asked, voice hoarse through all the singing and shouting and laughing.

Snape nodded tersely, detaching himself from Black's side and walked straight into the crowd.

"Did you enjoy it?" Snape asked when Black had caught up with him, the bustle of the Square behind them. The sudden quietness made Snape's voice loud in Black's ears.

"Quite. I had forgotten all about that movie," Black said, breaking into a long reminiscence of all those Muggle Appreciation Nights of his younger days. If Snape were at all disturbed or moved at the mention of Lily, he didn't show it. In fact, he didn't show that he was paying any attention to Black's monologue at all.

Black, on the other hand, was too wrapped up in his own memories to realise that they had arrived back in their safehouse. By the time he realised he was talking to himself, with furniture as an audience, there was a pot of tea and a plate of hearty sandwich waiting for him; and Snape had already locked himself in his room.

* * *

He didn't know how long it was since he sat himself down on the chair in front of the fireplace, eating sandwich and drinking tea, staring at the fire dancing hypnotically.

"Black," Snape's voice jolted him back into awareness.

"Snape."

"The Headmaster wants to speak to you," Snape said, thrusting a two-way mirror into his hands. He watched as Snape once again left the room, providing some semblance of privacy. Not that there's much of it on offer, since the walls were thin.

* * *

"Sirius, my boy! I heard you met up with Harry. How is that boy?"

And they talked about Harry, about the weather, about London, and more nonsense. Then Dumbledore asked about Snape and whether he'd received anymore threats, "the boy just won't tell me," the old man lamented and Black snorted.

"As if he'd tell me anything," Black said. "Other than, 'oh roll over and die, Black', or 'go away, Black', or 'you're less annoying as a dog than a human, Black' that is. I'm trying to be nice to him, you know, because you asked that favour off me. But Albus! Can you imagine how hard it is?" Black groaned, wondering if the old man knew exactly what kind of agony he was in.

"Do you know Severus said the exact same thing about you?" Dumbledore asked, humour in his voice. "Not the exact words, but along quite the same lines."

"Promise me you'll get me an Order of Merlin, just for the fact I've developed enough patience not to kill him in his sleep."

"Come now, Sirius. It should be fine," Dumbledore placated. "As long neither of you provoke each other overly much."

"He goes to _parks_!" Black exclaimed, and Dumbledore had the audacity to laugh, a belly-roll laugh too, by the sounds of it. "And you said he was in mortal danger. Whoever goes to parks when they're in such dire situations?"

"Maybe it's because he's been in such situations before," Dumbledore said, sobering. "He may become reckless because of it."

"And I should care? Good riddance, I say," Black said, snatching his teacup and drank all the tea in one big gulp.

"It must be hard for you," Dumbledore said unapologetically.

"How long is this thing, anyway? When is this infernal 'assignment' of yours going to end?" Black thought he'd had enough of close-quarter Snape to last him a lifetime. And, really, it didn't seem as though Snape was in any danger at all. Parks, strolls, pub breakfasts, café lunches, sing-a-long cinemas.

Black hadn't noticed any illicit transactions being carried out, hadn't been in any life-threatening skirmishes or any other dangerous sorts of undertaking usually found in muggle spy movies. Instead, it had been a very bland and pedestrian few days.

What kind of assignment was this, anyway?

"Well, good night, then, Sirius," Dumbledore said instead.

---

Black stared at the mirror in his hands.

"We'll be returning to Hogwarts tomorrow, you'll be glad to hear," Snape suddenly appeared beside him.

Black looked up and got a plate of fish and chips shoved into his line of sight. "Don't worry," Snape said, "I haven't time to poison it."

---

They ate in silence, across each other.

"So, what are you going to do once you're free of me?" Snape asked.

"What do you care?"

"Merely curious."

"Enjoying myself, I suppose."

"In what way?"

"In ways that aren't allowed in Azkaban."

* * *

Dinner plates washed and dried, they found themselves in the same arrangement as the night before, imbibing in alcoholic drinks and baiting each other.

"That boy singing next to you at the cinema," Snape said, pouring a good serving of scotch for himself and Black, passing Black's glass back across the table. "He looked rather young, don't you think?"

"Are you accusing me of something, Snape?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Black."

"I think you are."

"If you're reading too much into an innocent inquiry, you must be hiding something."

"At least someone finds me desirable."

Snape didn't provide any rejoinder so Black took it as an opportunity to pour himself another serving.

"So, boys like that are your type, eh, Black?" Snape asked after a long stretch of silence.

It was the last thing spoken that night, and the next day found them back at Hogwarts, going separate ways.


	5. barely felt, scarcely hurting

_notes_: This part contains possibly inaccurate mentions of world mythology and folklore. Also, a very chatty installment with no sight-seeing, no interesting detours; just talk, talk, talk. *cringes* I tried! I tried to get them do interesting things.

* * *

.quarto/sì che o non duole, o non si sente appena.

Snape left Black in the Headmaster's Office, headed back down to his rooms, and continued on as if London had never happened over the past few days. The stack of paperwork left on his desk was exactly as he'd left them.

He sat down, leaned back and exhaled deeply. He marvelled at how at ease this place made him. He had extreme misgivings the first few years of his tenure here, and all these years -- even now -- there were many things that still made him uneasy, made him felt unwelcome. Slowly though, he found that Hogwarts had become the home he'd never known before. It was strangely comforting. Unlike Spinner's End.

_Black would have a laughing fit if he ever finds out about Spinner's End. And here I've been mocking him about Grimmauld Place._

This unexpected thought linking back to Black annoyed him, and he covered his irritation by calling for tea, which appeared upon his desk in a flash. Snape acknowledged it with a nod. He made a point to politely ignore his house elf's exuberant outpouring of joy at having his master returned apparently unharmed.

The house elf was soon sent back to the kitchens with a curt "I think I'll dine in tonight".

Snape's "that'll be all" went unheard as Barny was already busy plotting the dinner menu.

---

Morning arrived and when Snape did not appear for breakfast in the Great Hall, Dumbledore decided to go pay a visit to the younger man instead. He was already walking towards the dungeons proper when he remembered about that unopened bottle of sweet wine he had back in his office. He thought Snape would probably appreciate it and tried to convince himself that it wasn't intended as bribery. _Old men shouldn't drink too much alcohol, anyway_, Dumbledore reassured himself, fetching the wine and retracing his way back down.

---

Dumbledore found Snape in his office, hands folded on the table, dark head resting upon them.

"Severus?" Dumbledore softly closed the door behind him and walked towards the desk.

"Yes?" came the muffled reply. Snape didn't bother to look up. "Come in."

"Am I interrupting? Were you asleep? Why aren't you in bed?" Dumbledore asked, placing the bottle of wine next to the tea pot and an empty plate with bread crumbs in it.

"I wasn't," Snape said, finally lifting his head to face the Headmaster, eyes clear and sharp. "I've just finished the last of my paperwork."

"Ah, of course," Dumbledore said. "Student assessments. I look forward to reading them."

"You never read them," Snape chided, levitating a clean tea cup from the sideboard and placed it by Dumbledore's elbow.

"I trust your assessment," Dumbledore said absently, pouring tea for himself. "Chamomile?" he asked, as the warm lightly-scented steam wafted and curled around him.

"Barny thought 'the Professor is needing something to relax'," Snape said, smiling crookedly. "What is it, then? I doubt you're here for the chamomile."

"It's about the documents you brought back from London."

Snape smiled and nodded, "of course." He raised his hand to stop Dumbledore from speaking. "A moment, Headmaster." Snape summoned Barny, requested food and tea enough for both brunch and lunch, and left instructions for them not to be disturbed for the remainder of the day.

"Has Black gone back into hiding?" Snape asked, as they waited for the food to arrive, unable to hold back his curiosity.

"Not quite."

"He hasn't gone back to Grimmauld Place then?" S_o the Headmaster would like to play twenty questions this fine morning? _Snape dug deep into his reserves and found enough patience to humour the old man.

"Not exactly."

"For once, I can't blame him. That bloody mausoleum can't be good for anyone's state of mind," Snape remarked. "He's gone to stay with the Weasleys then?"

"No," Dumbledore replied, covering his smile with his tea cup.

"He's here somewhere?" Snape asked, eyebrows rising together with the pitch of his voice. The mangy cur. Here? In Hogwarts? A dangerous thing to have around the children. Surely the Headmaster could see that.

"No."

"Sent back to Azkaban?" Even as he said it, Snape knew it couldn't be true. But he had to say it, just in case it turned out to be true after all.

"_Severus!_" Dumbledore exclaimed, rather horrified. "Really, now. Please don't ruin a beautiful morning with such morbid thoughts."

"So he has simply disappeared?"

"I've sent him on an errand," Dumbledore said.

"No rest for the wicked?" Snape asked, a little bit amused that Black should already be sent out on another errand so soon after returning. Not that he should care, really. Maybe Black would do them all a favour and die from exhaustion in a mountain somewhere. Or a bog, perhaps?

"Also the reason why I need your thoughts on the details of the documents you procured. I have no doubt that it will help Sirius on this new errand of his," said, ignoring Snape's choice of morning whimsy.

"You... sent him _there_?" Snape exclaimed. "What on earth possessed you to do _that_!" Snape took a deep breath and was about to launch into a definite tirade when Barny arrived with trays laden with food. He set aside his tirade long enough to thank the elf and placed a charm to keep the food warm. "Headmaster!" Severus turned back to the other occupant in the room.

"You don't think he should be sent on this particular errand?" Dumbledore asked, as he pulled out a sheaf of paper, placing them on the desk.

"Are you trying to get him killed?" Snape asked, sorting through the papers. "All this while you've been telling me not to kill him. You didn't say you'd like to do the deed yourself." Sometimes he found himself unable to understand this man sitting in front of him; who was smiling serenely as if they were talking about the choice of chintz upholstering instead of human lives.

He'd learnt long ago about his worth in the Headmaster's estimation, and had learnt to accept his fate and the possibility of not living to see his fortieth birthday. But to hear that Black, one of Dumbledore's supposed favourite, was being sent down the path Snape usually took... Honestly, he didn't know what to think.

Trapped between a small pleasure of the possibility of finally getting rid of his long time nemesis, and his mild horror that it was Dumbledore who had sent Black to his possible doom, Snape had grown very quiet. He had stopped paying attention to Dumbledore's explanations and well-worded reasonings.

Dumbledore too, noticed Snape's inattentiveness. He smiled inwardly then reached across the desk to place a hand upon Snape's clenched fist. The younger man jerked backwards in surprise, almost falling off his chair.

"You're worried about Sirius?" Dumbledore asked, leaning back in his chair, watching Snape straighten up with a twinkle in his eyes. "You care for him."

Snape looked at Dumbledore, disbelief colouring his face. "No!" He exclaimed, as the weight of Dumbledore's assessment registered in his understanding. "I... I'm... _No! _Absolutely not!" Red spots bloomed upon his sallow cheeks.

Dumbledore merely smiled, a hint of smugness peeking through the flow of snow white beard.

Snape stared at Dumbledore, eyes wide and slackjawed. Finally, he rearranged his chair and himself in it. "Yes, well," Snape said. "These confirm the rumours I've heard so far. Also an explanation why the Dark Lord hasn't been present in the past few meetings. They really must've found some definite clues as to Zahhak's underground citadel. Which is why I don't think Black should be sent on this particular mission. If he runs into the Dark Lord, and that's a definite possibility, I can't guarantee that he'll return alive."

"You underestimate his abilities I think, Severus."

"No." Snape replied tersely. "On the contrary, Headmaster, I think you often ask for too much." Improbable demands veiled in the sugary sweet I-trust-yous; three little words that managed to bespell everyone into undertaking the most herculean of tasks. _Jump off the cliff, swim in a caldera, why don't you? why not?_

"He's an exceptional duellist. I'm sure you know that," Dumbledore said.

"More than I care to admit," Snape said, grudgingly. "But that was years ago, and I don't think they allow magic in solitary confinement."

"He's a very capable animagus. That hasn't changed."

"Have I told you that Pettigrew hasn't been present at Death Eater meetings as well? Black will be found out in a flash," Snape asked, then quickly raising his hand to stop Dumbledore from interrupting. "I know what you're thinking, that he might be too embarrassed to show up at meetings after being found out. I thought of it, too. But it seems that Voldemort has taken the rat with him."

"It does make sense," Dumbledore said after a brief pause. "They kept the Minotaur in a labyrinth, why not Zahhak."

"Though I don't think Zahhak was a captive as everybody believed. The Dark Lord is convinced that it is really Zahhak's underground stronghold, a place to lick his wounds after an epic defeat. But, yes, such a stronghold would boast traps and diversions only a rat can navigate through."

"That does put Sirius in some kind of trouble."

Snape said nothing, merely reaching for a slice of orange tart. Dumbledore followed suit, choosing a cinnamon roll for himself.

"But yes," Snape said, after a bite, then a sip of tea, "Do send Black to his peril, and see if I care."

"But you do care, Severus," Dumbledore said. "I know you."

"I was only thinking about how Black is more useful alive than dead," Snape scoffed. "He's the only one the Potter brat will listen to. Use your influence to get Black to rein Potter in. One of these days, the Potter boy will get himself into trouble that no one can get him out of. I assure you, I will not want to be holding your hand when your pretty plan crumble like a house of cards at the heel of Boy Saviour's demise."

"Ah. Deny it all you want," Dumbledore said, waving his silver dessert fork like a miniature three-pronged wand, warm orange light from the fireplace bouncing off it, dancing across the wall. The fork then descended into the last piece of roll; and once the roll was consumed, Dumbledore drank tea, stood, then moved to the fireplace.

"Grimmauld Place!" Dumbledore said, tossing floo powder into it.

Snape almost choked on his tart as he listened to Dumbledore speak to Black. There's a change of plans, the old man said. Stay as you were, he added. Wait for further instructions.

When the connection was broken, Dumbledore turned to look at Snape and gave what could have passed as a sheepish grin on any other people, but on Dumbledore looked entirely too mischievous.

"You... you said he's already gone on his mission!" Snape sputtered.

Dumbledore returned to his seat, sat back down then helped himself to another roll -- chocolate this time. He also found two chocolate frogs on Snape's brunch tray and took one. "I wonder how Voldemort is going to convince Zahhak to join him in this unholy endeavour of his," Dumbledore said, pointedly ignoring Snape's outburst.

Snape, on his part, had managed to restrain himself from getting an apoplexy, but was left somewhat reeling at Dumbledore's sharp change of subject. "W... H... That is to say, he..." Snape grasped for words, trying very hard to keep up with the Headmaster's careening through discussion subjects like a dogged Chaser. _Dog! Oh Merlin! Salazar's Balls. _He needed to stop connecting every thought back to the bloody cur. "Yes, that is to say... He... I think I heard something about restoring the glory of Tiamat's Children or some such tripe."

"He can be persuasive when he wants to be, of course," Dumbledore said, tapping his knee absently. Voldemort had already won over the Koschei and subverted some noble Bogatyri to his side.

"That he is," Snape said, a sour expression flitted across his face. He leaned across the desk to retrieve his brunch tray before Dumbledore could pilfer the last of his frogs. "Brunch, Headmaster? I still need to run my syllabus for next year through you. There's much to be discussed, I think."

"Yes, yes, of course, my boy. And all this heavy talk is making me very hungry."

* * *

But a few bites in, a Tengmalm owl appeared, deposited a howler and left. Both Snape and Dumbledore stared as the howler unfurled itself and started a litany of "traitor", "i know what you did", "just you wait", or as Snape put it succintly, "The usual tripe."

They managed another bite of pie each before Snape reached for his wand and cast Silencio just as the howler managed to screech the first few syllables of what sounded like an Expeliarmus.

Dumbledore looked at Snape and his gaze softened considerably, "You said you received threats."

"Isn't _that_ a threat? Haven't you been listening to its nonsense the past few minutes?" Snape asked, using his wand to point at the now inaudible howler. He could really destroy the howler if he wanted to, but Snape found watching a mute howler rant could be oddly appealing.

"It's a Cursing Howler! I should think it's _more_ than just a threat, Severus!" _Which explains the choice of courier_, Dumbledore thought, berating himself for not being perceptive enough. Tengmalms were almost always bearer of dangerous things. "You should have told me."

"Tell you?" Snape asked, popping another slice of pie into his mouth. "So you can do what, exactly? Help me destroy howlers? Pull me out of commission? Put me in a glass cabinet until the end of war?"

"I would," Dumbledore said, surprising even himself that he really meant it.

"Oh?" Snape asked, momentarily glancing away to watch the howler shred itself at the end of its tirade. He stared at the little pieces of paper falling onto the table like confetti. A few pieces strayed into his tea cup, and he levitated a new one from the sideboard. _No drinking from cups contaminated by howler ink_, he remembered his mother's words of wisdom. _Salazar only knew what sorts of evilness resided in it_. He stared at the small hill of shredded paper as if it held some answer to the greatest puzzle of the universe. "But I won't. Let you, I mean," he said.

"I know. I'm sorry to hear that."

* * *

So they had brunch, discussed Snape's syllabus for next year, argued over some points in the study note, discussed the upcoming Quidditch League matches, spoke of summer plans once they managed to tie up all loose ends of the school year, had lunch, then it was time for the Headmaster to return to his duties.

"There will be a Death Eater meeting sometime next week." Snape said as Dumbledore walked towards the door.

"Of course," Dumbledore said, not bothering to turn around. "Good day, my boy," he said, stepping out, closing the door behind him.


	6. the sea wails and breaks

_Notes and warnings_: This part still contains possibly inaccurate mentions of world mythology and folklore. Still no interesting action sequences or anything. Still very chatty. I've come to realise that I have no ability to write good action stories. I like watching them, though.

* * *

.quinto/pommi ove 'l mar irato geme e frange.

It was an hour or so past midnight when Snape finally returned. Dumbledore quickly ushered him into the Headmaster's sitting room and left to get the house elf to prepare a tray. _There's nothing a good spot of tea and jam biscuits can't soothe_, had been his long-standing motto. He insisted on taking the tray himself, much to his house elf's annoyance. But Dumbledore's grim countenance stopped the elf from saying anything.

Snape sat in the chair next to the fireplace, back rigidly straight. His eyes had drooped down slightly, but flew wide open when Dumbledore placed the tea tray on the table next to Snape's chair.

Slowly, Snape poured himself tea, added more sugar than usual, and took a long sip. Dumbledore noted how those usually-steady hands were shaking slightly, but wisely held his own counsel. All would be revealed in good time. Instead, he fussed over his own tea, arranging and rearranging himself in his own seat.

"He was there," Snape said finally.

"Voldemort?"

"Yes. At the meeting," Snape replied. "After three absences, he's finally returned. With news you wouldn't like."

"So he's found the Serpent King?"

Snape nodded. "Or rather Pettigrew found Zahhak for the Dark Lord. The rat was smug all night. It seems that he's more than redeemed himself for his past failures -- of which there were many." Pettigrew's sudden rise in favour had galled many of his Death Eater colleagues; those who had treated that pitiful creature as their indentured servant. Though equally seen as a traitor, Snape had mostly been treated better due to his usefulness in potions-making. Pettigrew, always quite useless in their estimation, had always played this subservient role. _Even as a Marauder_, Snape thought.

"Has Zahhak pledged his assistance?" Dumbledore asked, breaking Snape away from his thoughts.

"No," Snape said after a few moment. "At least, I do not think so. It's too early to tell. And the amount of work the Dark Lord has ordered for us should indicate Zahhak's reluctance in aligning himself to another. He has been burnt very badly before."

"That defeat must have galled him, no matter how long ago it was." And it had been a long time, indeed. A good millennium had passed since a mere boy had defeated him; but time had not dulled the senses, merely heightening hatred to a point of blindness. Zahhak must have seen a kindred spirit in Voldemort, each had had their rule threatened by a mere boy.

"Zahhak is already grooming -- _has_ already been grooming his progeny for quite some time. The Younger Zahhak is warier of strangers bearing gifts than his sire, but is also eager to exact revenge, as well as achieving what his sire couldn't. He had no intentions to fall into the same trap as his sire before him."

"You've mentioned work," Dumbledore inquired.

"Yes." Snape sighed heavily, indicating that whatever work the Dark Lord had assigned his loyal followers, some of it would be assigned to him. Snape was only grateful that the height of summer holidays would soon be upon them. He didn't think he could cope with both the Dark Lord's demands and the task of minding snot-nosed dunderheads.

"Pettigrew, by navigating the treacherous entrance to Zahhak's stronghold, has passed the first test for the Dark Lord. A test that leads to many more," Snape said. He made as if to reach for his tea, but withdrew his hand halfway. He folded his hands in his lap and stared at the fire instead. "The Dark Lord has chosen Lucius to be his envoy, a glorified go-between, it seems. The rest of us will be sent scurrying around all parts of the world collecting things to be presented to Zahhak as pledge."

"Indeed?"

"For one, the Younger Zahhak requested potions to be made to soothe his sire's wounds and old-age ailments. I'm surprised that the old bastard lives still, even with all these wounds."

"Legend has it that he was granted immortality by Ahriman. Though fortunately immortality does not always mean constant health." Dumbledore lapsed into silence, wondering whether this immortality was granted by way of enchantments, some twisted divine will, or merely that Zahhak had a vast collection of horcruxes. "You will be required to travel to Damavand, then?"

Snape nodded listlessly.

"Must I expect your prolonged absence?" Dumbledore asked, already conjuring up scenarios to explain Snape's extended disappearance from British soil to various people.

"Yes. Just in case," Snape said, sighing again. "I expect to travel between here and there. I haven't an idea if they would provide me with a well-appointed workspace," Snape said. Turning his head away from the fire he sought Dumbledore's eyes. "You..." Snape hesitated, cleared his throat and continued, "You do know I will have to heal Zahhak from whatever ailment he's under? Instead of killing him outright?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "But you will stall as long as you can."

"That was never a question," Snape answered with a haughty huff.

"Of course," Dumbledore said, voice soft and placating. Snape was visibly exhausted and he really shouldn't bait the other man, Dumbledore admonished himself. He took a deep breath before continuing, "Are there other things that Zahhak require, as a show of goodwill from Voldemort?"

"Trinkets and various supposedly-sacred objects from around the world."

"What kind of objects?"

"The Dark Lord did not say," Snape said. "But I am quite sure that the Kirsasp Stone is amongst the things Zahhak require." The Kirsasp Stone was not unlike the Ressurection Stone, and more potent besides. It was said that a blind seer had approached Zahhak and told him about the Stone: how it would one day be used to resurrect Fereydun, Zahhak's once-conquerer, to defeat him once and for all. Nobody quite knew what the stone looked like, or whether it existed in actuality. "But Zahhak wants it. He wants to destroy it. And I think, the Dark Lord would like it for himself."

"To make more horcruxes?" Dumbledore finally voiced his fear.

"I don't know. But recently the Dark Lord has also been hoarding things for his personal vault, as if he were a Hesperian dragon hoarding gold. Though I have yet to hear him create a horcrux out of any of them." _Not that the Dark Lord would tell a lowly lackey or a suspected traitor,_ Snape thought inwardly.

Dumbledore went quiet once more, hand absently stroking his beard. Snape took this chance to replenish his tea cup and attempted a bite of a biscuit. But one bite was enough to roil his stomach, so he drank his tea, sugarless this time.

Dumbledore stayed quiet for quite a long while, and Snape was now valiantly struggling to stay awake. "I will have to think this through, talk it through with some of the others," Dumbledore said at last.

Then, his eyes finally fell upon Snape's countenance and properly saw the younger man for the first time that night. Fatigue ran through the thin frame, _thinner than I saw him last, I think, _Dumbledore told himself. Those dark circles around still-sharp eyes, worry lines upon those brows. "I should hurry you to your rest, Severus," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet, standing in front of Snape who was still sitting down.

This close, Dumbledore could finally see a bruise blooming at the edge of Snape's mouth, spreading upwards following the curve of Snape's cheekbone. Dumbledore wondered why he didn't notice it at first.

Snape flinched when Dumbledore touched the bruise. He shrugged the Headmaster's touch and quickly rose. "Please, don't touch me," Snape said.

"Did..."

"It's not what you think," Snape said, already retreating as far as the door. "Good night, Headmaster," he added, and without waiting for Dumbledore to reply, exited the room.

"Why don't you use the Floo?" Dumbledore asked, even though he knew Snape was already out of hearing distance (or at least at a distance where Snape could politely choose to ignore him).

Dumbledore sighed, then went to his desk. Any other time, he would worry about the young man, played the role of a father, and smother Snape with as much care he couldn't handle. As it was, time was not on his side, and what little he could glean from Snape's report had worried him greatly. Voldemort hadn't been idle and would not be enjoying summer holidays like the rest of the world.

He took out a long scroll of parchment, arranged his quills and inks around him. He wondered how many times his concern for Snape had fallen by the wayside in order to make way for more important things; how many times he hadn't acted on his impulse to run after the younger man; and how many times his concerns were rejected by Snape himself. But even this thought was quickly forgotten as Dumbledore began writing his report to the Wizengamot.

* * *

Snape stood in the dark hallway, staring at his feet. His fingers worrying the bruise upon his cheek. He started his long walk back to his rooms but in the end turned around and headed to the front door instead.

Walls. He had enough of walls, he thought. The walls, the ceilings, even the flagstones underneath him seemed to close in on him; like a heavy weight upon his heart. From the windows he noted the clear skies, the quarter moon, the stars, the open space, and they hastened his steps.

He flung the heavy doors and left it for the house elves to close. He didn't even notice that he had started running -- the sort of furious, undignified running that would have embarrassed him if it were seen by anybody.

The wind was harsh against the bruise of his cheek, and his treacherous mind recalled what happened earlier that night.

* * *

The clock'd had struck midnight, when Voldemort finally had them dismissed. Snape had already started to compose his report to Dumbledore, as he walked out towards the Apparation Point when someone took hold of his hand.

Cursing himself for his inattentiveness which allowed him to be handled in such a manner, Snape yanked his hand away, turned around, wand at the ready.

"Severus." It was Lucius Malfoy, standing there half shrouded in darkness, hands raised to indicate that he had meant no harm.

"Lucius," Snape replied in kind, not lowering his wand.

"Put away your wand," Malfoy said, stepping warily forward.

"What do you want?"

"Am I not allowed to talk to a dear friend?" Malfoy asked. Another step and he was within Snape's personal space. "It's been a while since I saw you. Draco..."

"I'm sure Draco has a lot of complaints about me," Snape cut in, then lowering his wand against his better conscience.

"Draco has nothing but the highest compliments for his favourite teacher," Malfoy said, voice low and deceptively smooth. He slowly wrapped his fingers around the wrist of Snape's wandhand. "I'm jealous of my own son." A smile. "He sees you more than I do." His forefinger trailed a pattern upon Snape's wrist. "You've been avoiding me."

Snape yanked his hand away, replaced his wand in its holder and took another step back. "I haven't been avoiding you," he said. "I've been busy."

"You were never too busy for me, before," Malfoy said, stepping forward, unwilling to let Snape put too much distance between them.

"This is not before," Snape said. "And our Before was a long time ago."

"In your estimation it may be. But not in mine." One final step forward and Lucius found himself sharing breath with Snape, who had averted his face. "I saw you," he drawled into Snape's ear. "In London. With that blood-traitor Black."

"You didn't." Snape congratulated himself for not reacting to Malfoy's words, that somehow his breathing remained even; his heart beating as if nothing were being said between them other than a set of benign Goodnights.

"I didn't," Malfoy relented, stepping back. He placed a finger under Snape's chin and turned the other man's face towards him. "But someone did."

"I doubt it," Snape said. Oh, but he was inwardly curious. Who saw? Who knew? Snape thought they were well concealed. His concealment charms, his occlumency, everything had been perfect. He had managed even to shield most of Black's magical signature from notice; and Pettigrew, the one who could recognise Black's animagus form had been away with the Dark Lord at that time. _Maybe Lucius was only calling a bluff, played a guessing game and came close to the truth_.

"Don't doubt it."

Then a pause as the two men sized each other up, though Snape was in a slight disadvantage, being cornered into a wall.

"Do not return to Hogwarts tonight," Malfoy continued. "Come back with me, spend the night. I'll tell you how I knew."

Snape stayed quiet, studying the man in front of him, looking for signs, for any indication, for anything. How did he know? About London? About Black? _Was Lucius the sender of those Cursing Howlers?_ Had his cover been compromised? Would news of his treachery be relayed to the Dark Lord? What then?

"Come with me," Malfoy said again, reaching out. But Snape stepped away quickly, slapped Malfoy's hand away.

"I have to go," Snape said, trying to walk away.

And he didn't know when, or what hit him at first, his mind already full of Malfoy's thinly-veiled threats, Voldemort's infernal plotting, Dumbledore waiting for his report back to Hogwarts. A sudden throb bloomed across his cheek and he felt a split at the edge of his mouth, though the absence of any coppery taste told him that nothing was too broken or bleeding.

He looked up to see Malfoy, his arm raised, his eyes blazing with some sort of anger Snape didn't understand.

"You deny me?" Malfoy asked, breathing rather heavily. "Yet you go with that dirty dog, that blood traitor who had done nothing but be cruel to you?" Malfoy lowered his hand. "Why do you avoid me, when I have done everything to appease you?"

"You're wrong," Snape said. Then, against his better judgement, Snape stepped forward and laid his hand upon Malfoy's shoulder. "You're wrong," he repeated. "I have nothing to do with that sodding bastard. After all he's done to me in the past, why would I suffer his presence now?"

Malfoy looked into Snape's eyes, desperately seeking something within those unreadable depths. Then he saw the redness on one cheek, the one he had dealt. He reached up as if to touch it, but Snape's hand stilled him.

"Don't touch it," Snape said. "It's nothing."

"I'm sorry," Malfoy said.

"Don't. It's unbecoming of you to be pitiful like this," Snape admonished harshly.

"You made me this way," Malfoy said accusingly. "Nobody cripple me the way you do."

"Hate me instead," Snape said, stepping away.

"I do," Malfoy said, hesitantly at first. "I do," he said again, straightening his back, gathering all of his Malfoy bearing around him like a noble cloak. "I do," he said finally, all traces of weakness chased away. "So much that it burns me." Then with a curt nod, he turned and walked away.

Snape watched Malfoy disappear into the shadows, then turned back to follow his earlier path to the Apparation Point.

---


	7. thus, upon a hill

_Notes and warnings_: Still no action. Still only talking. This time Snape and Black discussed fairy tales.

* * *

.sesto/ed ei si vive lieto ne' suoi colli.

A week and a day or so of being sequestered, Black had finally grown extremely sick of Grimmauld Place and the constant screeching from the wall. He'd been willing to go anywhere at this point. Suicide missions sounded much more appealing by the minute.

So, he was suitably elated when he received permission from Dumbledore to leave the place. He had impatiently waited for the all-clear sign (as Dumbledore needed to make sure that the trace placed on the floo connection between Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place had temporarily malfunctioned; to keep up appearances).

Dumbledore did not say anything when Black emerged this side of the floo, merely walking to the window and pointing him to a particular hill in the distance. Suddenly Black had the sinking feeling in his stomach that it would have something to do with Snape.

Why was it that the only time he was granted reprieve of any sort of prison -- be it Azkaban or Grimmauld Place -- it ended up with him and Snape? Had Dumbledore found a special kind of delight in pitting the two of them together, like some sort of morbid experiment to see who killed who first, who survived in the end?

Dumbledore had told him that there were no untoward intentions, but Black was suspicious and so was Snape (he was fairly sure).

Maybe it was merely Dumbledore's way of reminding him (and Snape) of whose power it was that kept him (and Snape) out of Azkaban.

As if he would forget. He was sure Snape hadn't forgotten the old man's brand of ruthless benevolence, either.

* * *

There were hills around Hogwarts, steep ones and flat ones; grassy, rocky, mossy, bare. Some of them reminded Black of the hills he saw in the Sound of Music (During his week-long solitude in Grimmauld Place, he had been sorely tempted to slip out and go to Prince Charles Cinema wearing clothes transfigured from his mother's favourite curtain, which would surely irritate that annoying picture on the wall. The only thing that stopped him from going was simply that he wasn't sure about the screening schedule).

The hill that Dumbledore had pointed out to him and upon which he now found himself was one such hill: picturesque and rather restful. All in all, a very good spot to find oneself on. Unless of course, one found oneself in the company of one's hateful enemy.

"What are you doing here?" asked a foremost example of what one's hateful enemy was.

Black didn't have to see to feel irritation and venom coming at him in waves. "You don't own this place, Snape," he said by way of greeting. It's too pretty a place to be squabbling, Black thought. And he reminded himself of Dumbledore's unspoken order to 'play nice, and to not hurt the trees'.

"Neither do you," Snape said.

* * *

Black ignored Snape and chose a spot for himself under a tree, approximately opposite of Snape.

This wasn't the first time he'd been on this hill. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Snape on this hill, too.

He couldn't really remember the exact time, though. Was it in their fourth year? Fifth? Or was it third? Sixth? He couldn't remember exactly. Did it ever happen at all, or maybe it had been a figment of his imagination.

But his memory told him that he'd been there, running together with Fang as Padfoot; that one time Fang had snuck out of Hagrid's hut and found another dog-type creature. They had ran around for ages, licked ice off barren wildberry bushes. Then, due to some bad luck on Black's part, they had came across Snape, who was sitting on that hill. Snape had been sitting alone and sitting rather still.

The noise Fang and Padfoot raised had alerted the Slytherin boy, who had then straightened his back and placed a scowl on that already ugly face.

Black had also seen the frost that had settled upon Snape's hair and how they had caught the winter sun within it. He had seen frost upon Snape's eyelashes -- frost that looked like tears. Had Snape been there long, he had wondered.

Snape had been soaking wet, really, from the frost melting under the gentle winter sun. The chilly wind had left red abrasions upon his face, those frown-scored forehead, those chapped thin lips

"Fang?" Snape had called out as he spotted the big dog looming, blocking the sun. Padfoot had stood somewhere behind Fang, trying not to be seen. _Not out of any cowardice_, Black as Padfoot had tried to convince himself. Merely so that the Slytherin wouldn't know his animagus form. James had reminded them up and down and sideways that they should keep this as secret as possible, and Black was inclined to agree.

In the end, maybe Snape didn't see him at all; maybe the sun had been in his eyes, or maybe his sharp eyes had been clouded by his daydreams. Maybe Snape had seen what he'd chosen to see and ignored the rest. In the end Snape only acknowledged Fang, had nodded slightly, asking a half-question that sounded like "Will Hagrid miss you". Snape had then climbed onto his feet, grimaced at his wet clothes, before finally turning to walk back to the castle.

* * *

This time there wasn't Fang to hide behind, Snape didn't turn around and leave. There's no frost, no chilly winds, and Snape didn't look like any tragic impoverished half-roman bastard hero being woken up from some watery dream of the long ago.

Snape looked and sounded exactly like Snape. "What are you doing here?" he asked again. "Grimmauld Place boring you already?"

"That, and Dumbledore summoned me," Black said, making sure that his distaste was clearly communicated. Yes, he was sick and tired of Grimmauld Place. No, he didn't ask to be here as Snape's most reluctant company.

"Meddlesome old coot," Snape swore under his breath, understanding completely who had orchestrated this hillside rendezvous.

"Quite," Black replied, thankful that he didn't have to retrieve his wand and duel so early in the morning. And the morning was quite beautiful, too, he thought.

* * *

The full force of summer would descend upon them soon, Black thought absently. He wondered if he could smuggle himself out of Grimmauld Place and steal Harry from those despicable relatives of his to go to some seaside town. If nothing else, he wanted to visit Brighton and enjoy the brightly-coloured beach huts standing in a cheerful line. And the pretty ladies too, of course.

He glanced at Snape, sitting that-a-way, sorting through some odd grass and weeds under the shade. Somehow he couldn't picture Snape on the beach, at all. "Do you have a summer house? Or do you haunt the castle and keep the ghosts company?" he asked.

"I have a summer house. but I don't care about it very much," Snape answered, cutting a stalk of weed rather viciously.

"You hate it, eh?"

"Do you hate Grimmauld Place?" Snape countered, glancing up ever-so-slightly.

"Do you hate your house?" Black parried.

"It's not the best place on earth, if that's what you'd like to know."

"Dark and foreboding, a basement at the arse-end of the universe, by the sounds of it." Black drew out each word, trying to paint a picture in his mind: the house, the road, the setting, and he ended up with something like curiosity. "Show me?" he asked, curiously, impulsively.

"No," came the terse -- and expected -- reply.

"You've seen Grimmauld Place! It's only fair."

"We're not playing show-and-tell, Black," Snape said in that annoyingly condescending drawl of his. "And life is never fair."

* * *

Snape continued to work in silence, pointedly ignoring Black's presence.

And Black, never one to be discouraged by one rejection or being ignored, finally found other ways to amuse himself. He imagined ever-increasingly absurd neighbourhoods to place his imaginary-Snape in. Before long, his quiet snickers had turned into full-blown laughter. He slumped bonelessly against the tree, head thrown back, hand cradling his stomach, laughing into the heavens.

He was rather enjoying himself that he missed Snape's first spoken sentence in a long while. "You were saying?" Black asked, struggling to sit straight. _Better pay attention, Black, you don't want *Professor*Snape to turn you into a tree. _

"We were seen."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"In London. We were seen. Lucius Malfoy told me last night."

"Will that be a problem?" Black asked, sobering up ever-so-slightly.

"I shouldn't think so. I don't think there's any solid evidence to begin with. If there were, I'd be dead already, don't you think?"

"I don't know," Black said. "You're harder to kill than a cockroach, after all."

"Maybe." Snape decided that he should just take Black's insult as a compliment. He'd be driven insane otherwise. "Either way, I'm not giving it too much thought. I'm quite sure I can convince the Dark Lord of my worth."

"You're full of yourself."

"And I also need to convince the Headmaster not to attach you to me anymore. That is, if he still wants me where I am now."

"This person. Do you know who it is?" Black asked, curious as usual.

"No. Maybe there's a spy within the Order. Maybe those two old ladies. Maybe that cross-dressing pretty boy who sang with you at the cinema. It could be the wind, or a bird." Snape shrugged as he continued to sort through his plants and insects. "We were found out. It's done. There's nothing anyone can do to alter it. The only thing to do now is to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"So... this someone... told Lucius Malfoy?"

"Thus, possibly someone not high enough to request a direct audience with the Dark Lord. I wouldn't worry too much, if that's the case."

"You're not worried?" Black asked, slightly disturbed at Snape's nonchalant attitude to most things. "Oh I forgot. You're buggering Malfoy, aren't you? He won't tell as long as you help him scratch whatever my frigid cousin can't, is that it?"

Snape exhaled sharply then visibly paled. Black could see Snape's hand tremble slightly, paring knife threatening to fall off those suddenly lax fingers. It seemed that he'd hit a sore spot.

One deep breath followed by another; then a thinning of already thin lips; then a visible snort from that unmissable nose, and suddenly everything returned to its proper place. Snape continued his work as if he'd never stopped. "Crass and crude as always, Black. You seem to have foresworn tact and manners along with your blood heritage."

"Can't be crass if it's true," Black said, leaning back, closing his eyes and placing a smug look on his face.

"It's not. Lucius and I haven't shared anything between us for a long time. And I refuse to trade sexual favours just to keep my arse out of the fire."

"Malfoy finally coming to his senses, has he? I can't for the life of me understand what drew him to you in the first place. I'm surprised someone like him would want to touch something abhorrent like you." Black said, then pausing for effect. "Maybe it's just a passing experiment. Spit you right out, did he?"

Black rolled away just in time to avoid Snape's hex.

Later, Black would reflect how Azkaban and possibly old age had subverted him horribly. It was the only possible excuse he could find to explain why he merely rolled every which way and laughed out loud to each of Snape's hexes, instead of taking out his wand and replying in kind.

_I must be mad_, Black thought, as he rolled and ducked and laughed until Snape's anger left him.

* * *

"Have you told Albus about this? About your cover being blown?" Black asked, much _much_ later.

"It's not blown!" Snape exclaimed, but all fight had temporarily abandoned him it seemed.

"Threatened to be."

"Yes, threatened. I'm used to threats, especially threats that are all air and no substance. There are no proof, there will be no proof. I've been careful."

"But from the sound of it, this one seems to me more than just hot air."

"I refuse to dignify that with a response."

"You should tell Albus either way."

"And achieve what? Make me as useless as you are? Sit around cradling my head in my hand in my lap?"

And that put another pause to their conversation, and they lapsed into another bout of silence.

* * *

This time, silence lasted longer, at least until lunch was delivered by a house elf -- two house elves, in fact. Dumbledore must've been the one choosing their menu, judging from the amount of sweets being included inside those wicker baskets.

"Are you ever going to forgive Lupin for the Shack incident?" Black asked, reaching for a raisin scone. The silence had given him much time to think, and oddly enough the made him think of running around as Padfoot and Moony over moon-drenched hills.

Black couldn't quite understand what made him ask such a question. Snape wasn't the type of person to forgive and forget, preferring to let a wound fester and scab over. Black did try to remind himself of that, but asked away nevertheless. Snape's behaviour towards him and Lupin these past few months would've been ample evidence. But curse his curious tongue, as always, Black thought.

"Believe it or not I've grown up since then," Snape said, eyes rivetted to the array of food spread in front of him. He hesitantly reached for a quiche, but withdrew his hand as far as the pumpkin pie.

"Grown up," Black scoffed. "What a way to avoid the F word."

"What F word?" Snape asked, finally settling for water biscuits. "_Fuck_ off, Black?"

"Damn you."

"Indeed," Snape said, placing a cube of cheese on top of his biscuit.

"Grown up, have you then?"

"Twenty years of teaching snot-nosed dunderheads? Believe me, I've seen worse since then. Most of it perpetrated by that godson of yours."

"As if the son of your paramour has nothing to do with it, I'm sure."

"The cycle of baiting each other senseless? _Ours_ culminated in the Shack," Snape said instead, trying to rein in his temper, trying not to ruin his own lunch. "I have a feeling _theirs_ would end up badly. As badly or even worse," Snape said between bites and swallows. _Much worse_, Snape thought inwardly_. Much, much worse. _"And I fear that when the day arrives, I won't be there. Or Lupin. Or yourself. Nobody will be there to stop them, and all our efforts will be for naught."

Oh yes, Snape'd had nightmares, kept having them. There was one where Potter would kill the younger Malfoy; or this other one where Malfoy got to Potter first; or another one where Potter would fail in killing Malfoy, but Dumbledore had died instead. His nightmares were endless -- an endless permutation of one person killing another; so many possibilities, though all inevitably led to one finale.

"You're talking as if they're mere pawns," Black said, forceful enough to break Snape from his reminiscence.

"Aren't we all?" Snape answered, hoping to sound suitably detached. He reached for the flask of pumpkin juice and proceeded to ignore Black the whole of their lunch.

* * *

"Do you know the story of the mirror of misfortune?" Snape asked, suddenly unable to stand the lack of conversation after lunch. He hated how the birds sounded all too cheerful, and how the skies looked entirely too blue.

"Mirror of misfortune? I'm quite sure I haven't," Black answered, eyes already drooping. Good food and agreeable weather never failed to lull him to sleep.

"Dementors aren't good bedtime story tellers, are they?"

"So, are you going to tell me this story?" _If you're just going to bait me, I'll just go to sleep._

---

"Once upon a time..."

"Oh, it's that kind of story."

"Quite."

"Continue."

"There was an old man, who lived with his grandson. They had a cow, which the boy raised all by himself. One day, the old man sent his grandson out to a neighbouring town to sell the cow, even though the boy didn't want to. The boy felt attached to it."

"They're poor then?"

"The story didn't say."

"Why else would they sell the cow?"

"Because the old man felt like it?" Snape answered sharply. "Would you like to hear the rest of the story or not?"

"Continue," Black said, hand waving imperiously.

"Half way there, the boy met a stranger."

"It's always a stranger, isn't it?" Black remarked.

"_Black!_"

"I'm sorry. Now you know why I don't get to hear a lot of fairy tales."

"Bad breeding, I think."

"Continue."

---

"_What a wonderful cow you have," the stranger said, and the boy was happy to hear it. _

_The boy told the stranger that his grandfather had ordered him to sell the cow. _

"_How much would you like for it?" the stranger asked. The boy told the stranger that his grandfather would like five gold pieces for it._

"_Five gold pieces!" the stranger exclaimed. "That's entirely too expensive!"_

_The boy of course, didn't think it was too expensive, especially since he didn't want to part with the cow at all. "No it's not," the boy said, stomping his foot for good measure. "Five gold pieces or none at all!"_

_The stranger merely laughed at the boy's impetuousness. After a short while, the stranger stopped laughing and told the boy that he only had two gold pieces. "Oh! And a mirror," the stranger said after a short pause. "A beautiful magic mirror."_

_The stranger took out a mirror seemingly out of nowhere, and true to his words the mirror looked very beautiful._

_The boy looked at it and immediately coveted it._

---

"Is it like Erised?"

"Not quite as big, I don't think."

"Right. Of course."

"Now shut up so I can continue."

---

_The boy exchanged the cow with the mirror and the money; gave the money to his grandfather but hid the mirror. The grandfather was of course quite mad that the boy only managed to get him two pieces of gold, and sent the boy up to bed without dinner._

_But that wasn't a big problem._

_Not long afterwards, misfortune descended upon the village: famine, cattles dying, people plagued by morbid diseases._

---

"Because of the mirror?"

"Though they didn't know at first. But yes."

---

_A wise woman who happened to travel through the village spoke to the village chief. She told him about a certain mirror, a mirror that brought misfortune with it._

_The chief then made an announcement, that all houses must be searched for the mirror. The village officials searched high and low for it but could not find it, and the boy had done a good job hiding it. _

_But after a while, as misfortune upon misfortune visited the village, and after much agonising, the boy crept out one moonless night and placed the mirror in the square in the middle of the village._

_Morning came, and all the villagers gathered around the mirror. The wise woman walked up to it, then turned around to address the crowd. "Now, the only thing left to do," she said, "was to destroy the mirror. 'Tis the only way to reverse all the misfortunes plaguing this village."_

_---_

"But won't destroying the mirror bring misfortune to the person breaking it? Was it seven years? A life time? Seven generations?" Black asked. "This is a magic mirror they're about to destroy." _A village-sized misfortune descending upon a person? Could anyone survive it?_

"Quite. And that's why nobody volunteered. For a long time, the mirror sat on a raised platform, right there in the middle of the village, as a visible reminder of their collective hesitance. And misfortune continued to plague the village."

"Did anyone break it in the end?"

"What do you think?"

"Did the boy? Surely he should be the one to break it." Pay for his mistakes with a lifetime of misfortune. Or maybe just seven years. But what misfortune it would be.

"He should, shouldn't he?" Snape said ponderously. "What was the saying again? Sleeping on the bed you've made?"

"But he didn't know it was a cursed mirror at first," Black said, after taking a few moment of thought. Black remembered the Stranger had merely said "magic mirror", and what boy could say 'no' to such a temptation.

"Does it matter, though, really? You said it yourself. The boy's responsible for it."

_A small mistake leading to unforeseen anguish. _

Black looked at the sky, not-quite-as-blue with grey clouds rolling in the distance.

_The story of our lives._

Both of them lapsed into uneasy silence once more.


	8. i don't envy you

_Notes and warnings_: A short chapter. Snape and Black returned from their jaunt, Snape and Dumbledore discussed the upcoming mission. No resolution, only talking. Still trying to figure out how to move forward from here.

* * *

.settimo/io non v'invidio punto, angeli santi.

They walked back to the castle in relative silence. Snape inwardly hoped they wouldn't need to converse at all until they reach the school proper. But when had his wishes ever heard, when had the things he wanted ever given to him? Even a simple wish like silence was denied as Black (unable to stand the tense silence) spoke, "You seem to like parks and open spaces very much." _Like a snake and sunny places_, though Black didn't say.

"I'm not obsessed by it."

"This is probably the longest we've sat together without drawing our wands and be at each other's throats."

"Wrong," Snape said. "_I_ drew my wand. _You_ rolled around the fucking grass, laughing your scabby arse off. So juvenile you couldn't even fight like proper wizards." Snape kicked a small pebble that laid in his way. "You never were an honourable wizard, were you?"

"Shut it, Snape."

"Oh?"

* * *

"Say," Severus asked a while later. "The Headmaster mentioned something about Grimmauld Place being infested by Wartweed? Is that true?"

"Yes. I'm having the cleaners come and clean them away." _Discreetly of course, cleaners that wouldn't blab about a house with a fugitive living inside it_. But that's beside the point. "Why?"

"If you would send me some of them. I'll outline my preferences later. Make sure you collect only the cuttings as I specified them." Snape wondered whether Black would have all his faculties long enough to follow instructions to the letter. Black, afterall ,achieved a high enough Potions NEWTs not to be a complete dunderhead, he grudgingly admitted. "On second thought, just send along a few boxes of them and I'll sort them out myself. I'm sure your brain is still recovering from the abject lethargy it sustained in bloody prison."

"Yeah, that'd be best wouldn't it, as I wouldn't be able to read your handwriting anyway. Is it any wonder your students struggled in your class? You couldn't even write properly to save a soul."

"You're speaking as if the final battle between good and evil would be determined by penmanship. Grow up, Black," Snape interjected.

"Why would you be needing them for anyway? They're weeds! Don't they grow here, at Hogwarts? Why weeds from Grimmauld Place? What possible difference could there be?" Maybe it's just a way for Snape to make Black work when he'd rather sleep in.

"How did you manage to pass Potions NEWTs again? Bumlicking your way up to a pass, is it?"

Black groaned. And here he thought the day would end on a rather good note. _But since when could a day with Snape in it ever ended on a good note?_ "Do I hear some jealousy there, Snape?"

Jealous? Snape wanted to ask. Even if he were jealous, he wouldn't actually admit it, would he? Not that he's jealous. But for the sake of an academic sort of argument, even if he were jealous (of which he wasn't, really), there wouldn't be a force on earth that could extract it from him. So he settled for: "Jealous? Of a prick like you?"

And much to Snape's eternal irritation, Black managed to smirk quite condescendingly, too. "Watch it Snape, your lowly breeding is starting to show. What would your hoity-toity pureblooded friends say?"

"Shut it, Black."

"Likewise, Snape."

* * *

Snape could also swear that the distance from the hill to the castle had somehow increased. It was never this far before, was it?

But they reached the castle doors finally. He left Black in the Headmaster's office, again; then hurrying (in a dignified manner, of course) back to his workroom. Some of his cuttings needed to be processed at once, he'd told the Headmaster.

It was true, of course. But also equally true was the fact that he'd had enough of Black's not-so-exalted company for one day.

* * *

He had dinner in his workroom, and an hour later, Dumbledore appeared bearing that distinctive retro-brown packages of the newfangled tea shop pretentiously called Tea Republic. "Lemon peppermint?" Dumbledore asked. "Or chamomile with a hint of some berries supposedly from the Himalayas?"

"I'm already having tea, actually," Snape said, pointing absently at the teapot at the corner of his desk, well away from his bubbling cauldrons.

Dumbledore handed his two tea packages to Barny who handed an empty teacup in exchange. He helped himself to a cup of very strong tea from Snape's teapot, then deposited himself on the only chair in the room not covered by parchment and things he didn't recognise. "Planning on staying up all night, then?"

"I find it best to be prepared."

"You're leaving tomorrow?"

"Evening, possibly. Or the day after. I'll leave once I've got all the ingredients I need. Though I'm sure I'll forget something," he looked up from his pestle, glancing meaningfully at Dumbledore.

"Naturally," Dumbledore answered dismissively. "I will endeavour to keep your stores stocked just in case you need something from here."

"Of course."

Dumbledore then reached for a book from the chair next to him. He frowned at the title a little before reading, letting Snape work in peace.

* * *

Another tincture successfully bottled, Snape set aside his work implements and reached for his cup of tea. "Have you thought of an excuse to give to the Ministry?"

"Excuse?"

"Yes? Excuse for why one particular Hogwarts teacher and Death Eater is haring off to parts unknown with a load of potions, some legal, some barely so?"

"Ah."

"Indeed 'ah'."

"That," Dumbledore said, hesitating for a moment. He placed his borrowed book back on its place, took a sip of his tea, and looked up at Snape. "You needn't worry about it."

Snape looked sceptically at Dumbledore but said nothing. Instead he drank his tea and went to prepare for the next distillation on his list. It was indeed about to be a long night.

* * *

This time, Dumbledore did not read. He watched Snape work instead. He marvelled at the row of bottles ready to be packed and shipped to Damavand. _Has he been working all evening?_ Dumbledore needn't wonder, really, for of course Snape had been working all night. _Lack of social life_, Black had said. _A social cripple_, Black had said again, not a half day ago in the Headmaster's office.

Had Dumbledore done this to Snape? Dumbledore wondered a lot of things, all of which had sadly crossed the path of regret into a territory entirely without name.

What awaited Snape at Damavand? He wished he'd known, so he could at least prepare better. But he didn't know, had no way of knowing, and he feared the worst.

'Fearing the worst' had been his unspoken motto. What else had let him survive all these years? Surely not the jolly 'don't you worry, my boy'. Fearing the worst, constantly looking over one's shoulder. He knew Snape understood the feeling, too. And that saddened him a bit.

"I don't think you should go," Dumbledore said finally.

"Not go?" Snape dropped whatever it was he was doing and turned to face Dumbledore. "Are you out of your mind?" _Old age and constant stress must've gotten to the old man at last. He's finally lost his mind, gone bloody bananas, one gobstone short of _ _a league._

"I just don't think you'll be safe there."

"And how am I supposed to explain this abrupt change of plans to the Dark Lord?" Snape's hand clenched and unclenched at his side. He felt like having tea, but was afraid that he would end up hurling tea, cup, and all at the nearest wall. An unwise move when there were cauldrons in various stages of bubbling. Not to mention the fact that Barny had chosen to serve tea in one of his better china tonight, of all nights. "You need to tell me these things well in advance," Snape said. He ran his hand over his face instead.

"It had just occurred to me."

"It had just oc... _Merlin_!" If only he wasn't running anything right now, he would've smashed something. Maybe not something directly relating to work, but he was sure he could find some unwanted crockery waiting to be smashed. Then, he'd bill the school for damages. "And what am I supposed to tell the Dark Lord? 'I'm sorry It had just occurred to me that I can't go to Damavand after all.'? Are you trying to get me killed, Headmaster?"

Snape paced back and forth across that tiny space available for frantic pacing, which wasn't much. Dumbledore wisely waited for Snape to calm down by himself, all the while watching the young man with concerned eyes. Snape was clearly tired, he could see, and when he was tired, his temper flared even worse than usual. Snape could use a holiday, Dumbledore thought. _We all could_, he added as an after thought.

"He… I'd be lucky if I could get away alive," Snape said as he carelessly swept aside paper from his chair, then dropping heavily onto it. "He… he's not in a good mood right now. Even Bellatrix and Lucius are on his bad list at the moment. The only reason I'm relatively unscathed is because he needed me to go to Damavand."

"I assume you are not the only Potions Master in Voldemort's employ?"

"You assume correctly," Snape replied tersely. "You _know_ that already."

"So, in theory, that person could go in your stead."

"That is also true, yes. Although, it would deprive me of the chance to ingratiate myself further to the Dark Lord. Not only that. It might make me backpedal in terms of favour. I don't have a strong enough foothold in the circle as it is, Headmaster. And the Order's demands for information aren't getting easier by the minute, are they? They seem ever more discontented by the alleged lack of information I brought back."

"I understand that," Dumbledore said, trying to keep his tone neutral. It wouldn't do for him to sound patronising at all. "And I understand that this would deprive you from getting valuable information to us. But I simply can't, in good conscience, allow you to go to dangers as yet unknown."

"You're afraid that I'll get killed? Thus depriving you of someone -- the only one -- from within the Death Eater inner circle?"

"I just don't want you to get hurt, that's all. No ulterior motives," Dumbledore said, pausing as Snape narrowed his eyes. "At least not this time."

"Well, you still need to give me a good reason to relay to the Dark Lord. I doubt saying 'I can't go to Damavand because I need to supervise the sale of my house and the writing of my will. Excuse me while I throw myself off the battlements' would amuse him."

"I will think of something before tomorrow evening."

"And _I_… I will continue to complete my list, just in case I end up still going to Damavand," Snape said, though he did not move from his seat.

Dumbledore was also wise enough to recognise that he had been dismissed. "Well, this is me," Dumbledore said, making a show of struggling onto his feet. "I'll leave you to your work. Do try to catch some rest some time soon."

"I'll send Barny up with your arthritis paste, shall I?"

"That'd be lovely," Dumbledore said as he walked past the fireplace and to the door. "And do try some of that tea I brought you, the Lemon Peppermint is exceptionally good."

"Good night, Headmaster."

It was a while before Snape extricated himself from his chair to continue his preparation.

---  
(tbc)


	9. interlude 1

Note: A very, very short interlude. Something that just popped up as I was trying to make heads or tails about this story and its plot. I wonder if is a good idea, or whether it is a wrong move to take. It's rather disjointed from the rest of the story, even more so. When I was writing it, I thought it would set the tone for going ahead. But I'm not sure. I welcome every bit of comment and criticism I can get, on any part of the story, or on this part in particular. And finally, thank you for sticking with me! :) And I better shut up now before this note ends up longer than the story itself.

* * *

.interlude.

He stumbled to bed a half hour before dawn. He would've very happily fallen asleep on his desk, but his strangely persuasive house-elf managed to convince him otherwise. Or maybe he was just entirely too tired to argue.

His bottling, boxing, and packaging was finally done, everything on his list ticked off, except for that weed from Grimmauld Place; but that wasn't such a big hindrance in the grand scheme of things, he could do without it. There were many substitutes for it, or it may be one the excuses he'd use to go back.

So, he went to bed (barely managing to stay awake through his bathroom routine). He told Barny to let him sleep a full four hours, and not wake him unless the world was rapidly coming to an end. And if the world had really come to an end, he'd rather not be awake to witness it, anyway.

Barny agreed, grudgingly, not because he thought his master was too lazy, but because he thought his master needed more sleep.

Barny kept quiet though. Barny waited in the shadows until he was sure his master was asleep before leaving to tidy up carefully around his master's things.

---

In his dreams of late, Black had featured most often, more times than Snape would have liked. They were surprisingly benign, these dreams. There was less blood than anyone would expect, than either of them had experienced.

In another one of those dreams that felt so vivid that Snape suspected some Dumbledore-worthy underhanded plot, some stranglely familiar stranger asked me a question.

The stranger half-stood, half-sat in the shadows; always in the shadows, out of reach, unrecognisable, yet felt like an old-worn cloak. _If you were to choose_, the stranger asked, his voice never taking one single timbre, always oscillating with every syllable. _If you were to choose, who would you choose?_

There were no names exiting his lips, but Snape's mind supplied the information nevertheless, always a step ahead, because this was his dream. It was the only place he had a semblance of control, but not even then.

(But at night, the illusion of control was stronger).

_Who? Choose who, what, and why?_ Snape asked. This wasn't to choose between Death or The Other Death, not in the sense of a life-threatening situation – he knew. For once this wasn't choosing between the Old Guard of the Wizarding World and the New Hope of the Bloody World and Everything Beyond It.

This choosing was altogether less benign and more surreal. He called the shadow by the name he knew – Albus – though the shadow did not acknowledge that name. _Isn't there anything better to do than to matchmake? At a time like this?_ But the shadow did not acknowledge that question also. _I have better things to do with my time_, Snape said again, trying to shake off the nudge niggling at the back of his mind. _This is my dream, you can't make me do anything._

_Just try_, the voice in his head said.

(In the morning Snape would or would not approach Dumbledore to ask about this breach of privacy. "Why would I do that?" Dumbledore would or would not reply. "You're too strong an Occlumens for me to ever contemplate doing that." Dumbledore's eyes might light up in that maddening way of his. Snape would or would not do that in the morning – the approaching and the asking – depending on whether he could find the appropriate question and muster enough excuse to ask that question. He'd have to think about it. In his dream, he's an exceptional multi-tasker).

_Just try, _the voice said again, nudging gently. The type of nudge that one would give to another person a hair away from tumbling off the precipice.

(He could hear the gleeful laughter of the seagulls).

_That one would make me let my guard down, _he started to tick off the name that went with each face that appeared right there, that one spot that itched and ticked and jumped right inside his eyelids. That one with the yellow eyes; or the other one with the yellow teeth rivalling his own; the other one with the yellow skin, too yellow or orange to not be a beta-carotene overconsumption victim.

_The other one would make me lose control entirely, undressing my conscience with a flick of those white, imperious fingers; then where would I be? Even then, there were too much history between us to salvage anything anymore. _

But Black...

Oh him?

_Was the sort of person who would unnerve me, _he started. It would be easier for Snape to keep his story straight with him. A simple person, Black really was, despite all the grand posturing. _There was a certain thing that lay between us, something I don't have a name yet. __He's safe_, Snape concluded. Safe. In a savagely dangerous way. Uncontrollable, even, but in a way that Snape could at least keep himself at check. _An imperfect mirror that reflected me back from its cloudy surface._

_Who would you choose? _The shadow asked.

_Nobody_, Snape replied at last. _Because I do not know myself_.

--


End file.
